


time warp: OUTTAKES

by eriscore



Series: time warp [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Ratings and warnings may change, summaries of each chapter are in the notes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:33:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27789037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eriscore/pseuds/eriscore
Summary: Drafts and deleted scenes of "time warp" series.
Relationships: Regulus Black & Tom Riddle
Series: time warp [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2033083
Comments: 1
Kudos: 27





	time warp: OUTTAKES

**Author's Note:**

> TW: Drowning, blood, purging for non-ED reasons
> 
> The original draft of the first chapter of "interrupted picnics." In Regulus' POV with some scrapped points and probably a bit funnier than the current chapter.

Drowning after being - still being - poisoned is a horribly unpleasant way to die. If Regulus is being frank, the dying is the best part of the whole ordeal. Or it would’ve been but he is still infuriatingly alive and in a _cruciatus’_ worth of pain.

There are hands grasping at him. Only two warm hands, not the endless scratching of nails and flesh being torn by too-blunt teeth, but he still recoils violently. The hands take no notice and pulls him up and out of the lake.

Regulus immediately retches, expelling water from his flooded lungs. He groans, barely audible, and tries to lift a hand to push aside the wet hair in his eyes. He takes in one shaky breath after another as an agonizing burning settles in his stomach, as figures and voices begin to solidify. Hazy and bleary silver eyes look over at the owner of the hands.

It’s a little hard to discern the teenager’s (he’s pretty confident in that assessment) features, since Sirius Black’s screeching face blurs over it. Dark brown hair, strong jaw, an attractive fellow. Honestly, Regulus would feel ashamed about what he’s about to do if his sense of shame hadn’t died when he was 13 and had tripped in front of the Minister for Magic.

“Sorry about the poor manners, but I’m going to have to be sick,” he says, or tries to say. He’s not sure if he succeeded in actually articulating words since his throat is kind of in a bad state with the poisoning and the drowning.

Regulus turns on his side a little to lean over the still water, props himself up with an elbow, and unceremoniously jabs two fingers down his throat and vomits smoking, dark green over the lake and himself. Steam immediately envelops his face and the bits that splash onto his soaked clothes only serves to dry it out. Distantly, he wonders what damage it had already done to his organs, but he passes out and lands in the water to probably drown once more.

-

He wakes up with a quiet _unfortunately_ in the back of his mind. Surface level _occlumency_ buries the thought well enough. The pain has thankfully dulled, just a near-constant throbbing everywhere and a wicked sore throat.

There’s a sound off to the side, like water falling, and he can feel the general presence of a person. Yes, someone had rescued him if he remembered correctly. He cracks an eye open and glances at his rescuer. He’s wringing out clothing instead of using a drying charm, so Regulus figures he’s probably a muggle and a non-threat.

He assesses himself next. There are bandages covering what probably looks like a proper mauling, wrapped around most of his body. He can even feel cotton taped along his cheeks. Instead of his best robes (the one with black pearls for buttons, delicate silver chains, and enchanted embroidery that moves when he walks, as if he was dressing for his own private funeral with a watery tomb instead of a coffin), he’s in a jumper and trousers. It feels distinctly muggle, but most of Regulus’ clothes have enchantments sewn in, so it might just be the lack of magic rather than the fabric. Those are probably his robes that the muggle is wringing out over the lake. He bemoans the idea, the dyed Acromantula silk is rather delicate.

The lake.

Filled with inferi.

That is being disturbed.

Oh, okay, so Regulus is not alive, just simply being tortured in the afterlife for being a Death Eater, forever reliving his death.

He discards that thought because he would’ve been tortured with family dinners not inferi armies and sits up frantically. The muggle raises an eyebrow at him, but Regulus is too distracted to notice. He takes in the cave he had painstakingly studied over the past couple months to find it completely different.

There is no basin filled with poison, no inferi, no residue of Dark magic from the wards he had broken to even enter the cave without dying, no convoluted, untouchable Anti-Apparition charm either. There are traces of Dark magic, yes, but most likely from his own passing presence and whatever force had brought him here.

It’s as if the Dark Lord never touched it, never bastardized the Crystal Cave with his magic.

Of course, that’s impossible. The implications of that are far beyond anything Regulus had ever even heard of, especially since he does not remember being anywhere near a Time Turner of all things. Of course, not to mention he hadn’t even brought his wand with him, wanted to give his mother _something_ to bury, and oh god Walburga was going to murder him for this. How had he managed to fuck up getting a horcrux so badly he broke space-time--

“You’re awake.”

Oh yes, the muggle. Wandless _obliviation_ is really out of his league. Maybe a good blow to the head?

Regulus lets out a groan of pain and turns to the boy. He racks his head for an appropriate muggle greeting befitting his station. “What’s up? I’m… Reg.”

He doesn’t think that was the right one, but the muggle doesn’t look offended, only amused. “Tom. Did you _apparate_ in here? I didn’t hear anything, are you a silent apparater?”

Yes, Regulus’ apparation was silent in the very few times he has apparated, it’s a point of pride for him. Every wizard has their own _apparition_ sound, Bellatrix’s crack of lightning, Narcissa’s shattering. It probably says something about him that his magic liked to be quiet.

“And what was the potion you sicked up? It looked quite painful,” Tom continues. He looks genuinely concerned, brows creased together and almost pouting. Masterful, really, but no one looks that perfect when they’re worried, even if it’s over a stranger.

“Ah, you’re a wizard,” Regulus frowns. “I guess I can’t _obliviate_ you.”

“You don’t have a wand.”

“And yours is several feet away. Shouldn’t you know not to let go of it?”

“I’m capable without one,” Tom raises a hand, _accio_ -ing the bone-white wand. He points it right at Regulus’ throat. “I’m more capable with one. Did you apparate in here? And how do you know of this cave?”

“Yes, I apparated silently.” There’s a brush of legilimency against his mind that’s easily flicked away. “I saw this cave in passing once, and it was the only place I could think of that was isolated enough to be safe.”

“And the potion?”

“I’m unsure of its origins,” Regulus raises a hand to point Tom’s wand away. “You’re underage, there’s a Trace on your wand. The Ministry would be on your ass if you killed me. Now, wandlessly...”

He glances up purposefully, and Tom follows his line of sight to where a rock is floating above his head. Regulus lets it drop a few inches, but Tom doesn’t even flinch.

“A Life Debt. You owe me your life,” Tom leans forward, mouth curled up in a smirk. “So why don’t you drop the rock _away from my head_ , before Magic decides to kill you.”

Regulus acquices and flicks his hand. The rock is flung to the side, bouncing off the wall of the cave and into the lake. “Since I’m in your Debt,” he smiles, “I don’t suppose you could accompany me to Diagon Alley? I’m in need of a wand and I’m fresh out of galleons.”

Tom looks over at his very expensive robes that are drying off on the side.

“I lost my galleons recently,” Regulus’ smile widens. It’s true, after all. He’s some time in the past and has no access to the Black family vaults. Access he’ll hopefully regain. “And I’m unwilling to sell my robes, they’re one-of-a-kind. And appearances matter oh so much.”

“Fine, but you owe me 7 galleons too.”

“And a few knuts and sickles, I need to send an owl. Remind my dear family of my existence.”

“I suppose that means you’ll need lodgings until then. You’re in luck, the orphanage I stay at recently had someone age out and Mrs. Cole is a drunk, she won’t notice an extra kid.”

“Thank you,” Regulus grabs Tom’s hand and pulls himself up to his feet. He winces, feeling the cuts pull. “Now, let’s get out of here. Have you Side-Alonged before?”

He apparates the two out of the cave before Tom could answer.


End file.
